


Crown

by passive_and_aggressive



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, I Couldn't Find The Royal AU I Wanted So I'm Writing It Myself, Light Angst, Multi, Science Fiction & Fantasy, but only light, in essense, not meant to be super dark, the obligatory arranged marriage/royalty au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passive_and_aggressive/pseuds/passive_and_aggressive
Summary: The North and the South have been at war for longer than anyone can remember, a complicated history of bloodshed. Connor is a peace offering; the first prince of the North, to tie the countries together and have lasting peace through marriage. Of course, when he's meant to kill his new husband after the wedding, romance becomes a bit more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

Streaks of sunlight bathed the town in sleepy gold rays, most of its occupants slowly rising from their slumber with yawns and stretches. But on the rooftop of the high castle perched on the hill, set a distance away from the rest of the city, one man was already awake. Barely much more than a boy sat, wearing fine clothes that bore the insignia of the royal family, curly brown hair blowing in the wind. His eyes, the same shade as his chocolate-colored hair and usually quite mirthful, seemed a bit dulled.

“You don’t have to do this, Connor,” a familiar voice rang out. Connor, the first prince of the far-northern country, didn’t bother to turn around to face the man who had clambered out onto the roof. “You could make that bastard do it— you’re the firstborn, not him. There’s no reason why you—”

“Richard is much more suited to the throne and I, and you know the order of our birth matters not in light of competency,” Connor said lightly, closing his eyes. “And he is quite happy here. I would never ask him to do this.”

“It’s not fair,” Hank said, voice rising an octave but daring to come no closer to where Connor’s legs dangled over the edge. “You’re happy here, too! It’s not _fair,_ Connor!”

Calling the first prince without a title was tantamount to treason, but Hank did it without flinching. The inquisition officer had always treated him as a son, just as much as his own young boy, Cole. Connor wouldn’t dream of ever trying to report him for it, but the use of his given name was jarring. Nobody called him by simply his name, except for Amanda and Richard. And even those times were sparse.

“This isn’t a matter of happiness, or fairness, Hank,” Connor said quietly, with a smile that bordered on gentle. “Emotions do not factor into this. This is my duty to my people, and to the blood in my veins. This is what’s best for our country.”

Hank was silent for a long time. Finally, bathed in hues of red by the rising sun, Hank hissed, “No, it’s what’s best for _her,”_ and stormed away.

 

* * *

 

“Your Highness!” Cole exclaimed happily, and Connor welcomed the boy with a smile. In the privacy of the closed doors, waiting to exit to the carriage that would be waiting for him outside, Cole was free to leap into his arms and Connor swung him happily. Cole’s cheerful smile dampened at Connor’s formal attire, and the boy muttered, “So you’re really going away?”

“I am,” Connor confirmed. “My engagement to His Highness Markus has been official for a long time, Cole. My departure has been set for months.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t go,” Cole sighed. “Who’ll help me with my studies now, Your Highness? And— And what about our checkers games! We’re still tied!”

“Consider this your win. After all, I am the one fleeing,” Connor informed humorously, though a note of sadness lingered beneath the light-hearted humor, setting the boy back down.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Cole’s hands clutched Connor’s gloved ones tightly. “Daddy won’t know what to do without you. And— And I don’t want a fake win! I want to finish our games, fair and square! So after you get married, you’ll come visit me still?”

No, he wouldn’t. Connor would never set foot in this castle again… except maybe in a casket, if the southern king was feeling particularly generous. But Cole didn’t need to know that, and with a cheerful smile, Connor lied through his teeth. “Of course I will, Cole. You take good care of your father for me while I’m gone, okay?”

Cole frowned, but released his hands. “I will, Your Highness. And you take care as well! Write to me!”

With a smile and a nod, Connor waved him goodbye, watching him disappear down the halls. He jerked around abruptly when a voice behind him spoke, sending shivers down his spine as his hair stood on end.

“You’re going to be late, Connor.”

“Y-Your Majesty,” Connor exhaled, whirling around to bow to the woman in extraordinarily fine clothing, who carried herself with the posture fitting of someone of her status. How long had she been observing him? “I beg your pardon, I didn’t—”

Her hand caressed his cheek, and Connor relaxed. “No need to apologize, my dear. I merely came to see my precious son off.” She sighed. “What a shame I won’t be able to attend your wedding.”

“A shame indeed, Your Majesty,” Connor agreed, and the thoughts of his task brought a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He swallowed it away. “I will miss you greatly.”

“And I as well,” Amanda agreed. “But you understand, don’t you, Connor? Country must come first, and we must sacrifice anything for our people.”

She wasn’t talking about his marriage. Connor swallowed thickly, but his heart was clear and light, his words truthful, as he promised, “For Queen and country, I would give my life.”

Amanda’s smile cleared any of his lingering doubts, leaving him with only solemn resolve. This _was_ what was best for his country. Amanda had never steered him wrong. “I know you will, Connor. Now go on. You mustn’t be late. Remember to give Markus my greetings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Connor straightened his clothes once more before taking a deep breath and exiting the safety of the grand palace doors. The walk through the garden to the gates was quiet and peaceful, but the moment he left the outer gates the clamour assaulted him; despite the city being a normally noisy place, today the excitement was palpable. He waved to the crowd as he approached his waiting carriage, beaming all the while.

“Hurry up, Your Highness,” The familiar voice of Gavin Reed, the leader of his brother’s guard hissed. Connor couldn’t fathom why he was here and not guarding Richard— as the heir apparent, he had his own personal guard, and Gavin was almost always at his side. As one of the most promising members of the inquisition, there was almost nobody more qualified to lead the royal guard. “We don’t need you getting assassinated before your wedding.”

The word left Connor feeling cold, but he fought to keep his smile in tact as he allowed the guard t to grab his elbow roughly and push him through the crowd. “Our people would never do such a thing,” Connor rebuffed, but gave in and entered the carriage. His question was answered immediately upon the door shutting.

Richard was waiting for him, hands clasped neatly in his lap and back perfectly straight. His eyes, as cold and sharp as ice, met Connor’s in the dim lighting.

“Connor.” Curt, professional, lacking all sort of familial warmth, Richard was exactly the heir one would expect to rule with the proper iron fist their country needed. But Connor’s smile was warm, and a similar look was reflected in the way Richard’s eyes softened.

“Richard. Didn’t Her Majesty tell you not to leave the castle?”

“I haven’t left the castle. I have a very severe headache that requires me to be secluded in my chambers for the foreseeable future.” Richard reply was monotonous, and Connor laughed.

“Brother, she won’t be pleased with you. It’s dangerous to leave the castle during such a time, and for both heirs to be outside at once? It’s unfathomable.”

“Our bloodline is the only thing that matters,” Richard agreed. “Which is why this is a foolish plan. You shouldn’t be leaving the state, Connor. It’s unsafe and, quite frankly, utterly foolish. Just as this whole matter of engagement is.”

Richard didn’t know of the plan he’d agreed upon with Amanda. They had both agreed it was better this way. Richard needed to rule with a clean, clear conscience, and he wouldn’t be able to knowing the reason his older brother was really leaving.

“It is to assure lasting peace,” Connor rebuffed, weakly. Richard was not convinced.

“It will be a faux peace, won by your mistreatment.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” Connor lied. “Markus will treat me kindly, and Jericho will be fair to me. You know this.”

“I don’t.” At Connor’s scalding look, Richard was impassive. “I cannot trust the enemy leader to treat the firstborn prince of a nation at which they are currently hostile well. And you, big brother, are a fool for doing so.”

“I am not a fool. I am simply doing what is required of me,” Connor reminded, gently. “This is not a matter of choice, little brother.”

“It _is!”_ The anger that abruptly laced his brother’s tone made Connor flinch, and Richard composed himself once more, the emotion bleeding from his expression. “You did have a choice. I could have been the one sent, Connor. I know I can handle myself in an enemy nation. But you are…”

Smaller. Weaker. _Unnecessary._ Connor was keenly aware.

“I am disposable,” Connor said quietly. “You, little brother, are not. You are more fit to lead our people. Therefore this duty falls to me.”

Richard said nothing, but his eyes smoldered. Finally, thinly, he said, “I will be accompanying you to the city border. Gavin will accompany you to the country’s border.”

“Richa—”

“There is no arguing about this matter,” Richard said, with a tight scowl and eyes that refused to meet Connor’s. His words dripped with an icy venom that stung at Connor like salt in an open wound. “This is my right as the heir apparent, and I exercise it freely.”

Pulling rank was something Connor could not argue, and he fell silent, bitterly. With a tone he forced to remain even, he responded, “As you order, _Your Highness.”_

The rest of the carriage ride was silent, and when Richard left, leaving him alone with Gavin. Connor had never really appreciated the company of the guardsman, and even now he would have preferred to be alone, but at least he had the tact to not comment on Connor’s tears.

 

* * *

 

The weather was fine and clear, and their horses were well-rested. The fortnight that the journey was expected to take would be cut down by more than two days, and the panic had begun to set in.

Connor would enter the enemy capital tomorrow. He would meet the man he was to be wed to tomorrow. He would meet the enemy prince he was to be wed to tomorrow.

It was really happening. He would never see Hank or Cole again, never walk through the peaceful gardens with Amanda or Richard, never set foot in the palace he’d lived his entire life in until he returned in a casket. If his body was even bothered to be sent back. Connor doubted that the southern people would have the tact to return his body, and honestly, he couldn’t blame them.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder roughly, and if it were not for the heavy weight Connor would have jumped into the fire. Gavin looked unamused.

“You should be getting sleep, Your Highness. Tomorrow is an important day, and it wouldn’t do for you to fall from your horse.”

“You should sleep too, Gavin,” Connor yawned. “You head back to the capitol tomorrow.”

“Actually, I head back now,” Gavin corrected dully. He lifted the bag that had formerly been draped over his saddle. “My horse is well rested, my water skins are restocked, and my bags are packed. I leave immediately.”

A sudden fear struck Connor. He wasn’t sure why; he had no particular fondness for Gavin, and Gavin did not particularly enjoy Connor’s company. In fact, the only reason they remained on generally civil terms was because of Gavin’s ties to Richard. But Gavin was a familiar sight, a piece of home that Connor had unintentionally found comfort in, and from the way Gavin sighed, he could see the rising fear in Connor’s eyes.

“Your Highness, I was ordered to travel by night to cut my travel time down. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be set back by almost twelve hours.” Gavin’s tone wasn’t unsympathetic, but it had the cool firmness that Connor needed to hear. “I must leave immediately. Your guard will see you safely to Jericho, I assure you.”

Of course. Connor wasn’t a child, and his fears were irrational. Well, they weren’t, but nobody else needed to know that. After a slow, deep breath, Connor nodded. “Of course. You’re correct. Safe travels, Gavin. Look after my little brother, won’t you?”

Gavin smirked as he threw a leg over his horse, mounting the saddle with ease. “He’s only gotten this far because I’ve looked after him.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

Connor watched Gavin gather his bearings silently. It was a new moon, and the sky was dark, but Gavin seemed unbothered, accustomed to the nighttime hours. It was only when Gavin was ready to leave, just about to spur his horse on, that the guard paused.

“You… look after yourself too. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Connor didn’t reply for a long time. When he did, it was a mere soft, “For Queen and country.”

It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but Connor thought Gavin looked disappointed. “For Queen and country,” Gavin echoed dryly with a sigh, before digging his heel into the side of his horse.

Then he was gone, and despite the guards that remained, Connor was alone.

 

* * *

 

Despite traveling in the carriage for the past near-fortnight, Connor rode into the city on horseback. It made him feel a bit more in control, as he entered the foreign city. Lulled him into a false sense of dominance.

Jericho had an unusual architecture, designed in an open, airy manner. Open plazas, large amounts of white stone, flat-topped roofs— very different than the pointed, shingled roofs and dark woods he was used to. The air, here, was warm and heavy; one more difference, from the cold and light air of his home.

It was such a jarring difference, Connor almost forgot to smile and wave at the people he passed. Flowers were thrown towards him, but he certainly didn’t miss the dirty looks and the jeers shouted behind the goodwill. It was just another sobering reminder of why he was here.

As a sacrifice. A… token of peace. A gift of goodwill. To tie their countries together by name of marriage, but nothing that would produce a blood heir.

The Jericho palace was just as different from his home as the cities had been, crafted of the same white stone, with open porches and towering pillars. A brown-skinned man, with clean-cropped black hair and two-colored eyes awaited him, standing just ahead of a handful of others that Conner didn’t recognize.

Markus. The crown prince and head of state, in place of the previous king, now old and ailing. He was… not what Connor had been expecting.

The image in Connor’s mind was a strong, terrifying leader, who wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter Connor’s citizens if it meant his glory. But this man had a kind smile that momentarily made Connor freeze, as a hand was offered to him to help him descend from his horse.

Regaining his wits, Connor accepted the hand and dismounted. Markus was strong, he could tell from the grip and the ease at which his weight was supported, and he had a bit of height on Connor. There was a vague reminder of Richard, in the composed manner he carried himself, and it unnerved the foreign prince.

Falling into the good form ingrained into him, Connor took a knee and bowed to the man. “Your Highness. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Connor, first prince of the north.”

Markus’ smile was serene, but his words were firm. “Please, rise. I intend for this engagement to be on equal footing.”

“As you wish.” It felt unusual to bow to another, and an uneasy feeling had begun to rise in Connor’s chest. This man was the leader of a hostile country, engagement notwithstanding. He was the enemy, and Connor was taught to die before he should bow to the enemy. Yet, here he was, rising from a knee he’d taken for the enemy leader. The back of his neck prickled where he’d exposed it.

Markus was being so gentle with him. Connor almost wished he had been treated harshly; that, he knew how to deal with. This fake kindness crept under his skin like needles, pricking at every one of his nerves, and he remembered Amanda’s teachings clearly.

_They’ll stab you in the back. Don’t be deceived by their pretty lies. The cowards of the south excel in wordplay._

“May this be the beginnings of a fruitful, peaceful union,” Markus declared, and the crowd cheered. The woman who stood a few feet behind him scowled at this, but his male companion seemed to support the idea of peace, offering him a genuinely kind (albeit strained) smile.

Connor wished that was possible. Peace was a foreign idea— their countries had been at war for longer than he had been alive, after all— but it sounded like a nice, hopeful thing. And as he echoed, "For our wishes of long-lasting peace," he really wished it could be true.

But peace was out of the question if it meant there was no guarantee his people would be safe. The casualties from the war were already too high on their side. Connor’s people couldn’t afford another long, drawn-out conflict— and there had been false ‘peace’ before, that always ended up in more bloodshed on Jericho’s part.

Which was why he was here. As he smiled at Markus, Connor wondered how he was supposed to gain this man’s trust while keeping up the part of a peace offering.

He came here to kill him, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor was shown through the front doors of the palace shortly after he had descended from the carriage, ushered through the crowd with a sort of practiced ease he found unusual; it was a rarity for the royalty of his country to interact directly with the common people, but Markus wound through the streets and crowds that stood between them and the castle doors with the air that he did it often.

Maybe he did.

“You must be tired after such a long travel,” Markus said kindly, attempting to break the silence between them. His two companions had left them as soon as they’d passed through the doors, presumably off to handle their own tasks, but the heir apparent had taken it upon himself to walk with the foreign royal. Connor shifted in his heavy clothes, sweat beginning to prick at his back; his clothes, though fine, were built for the colder climates he was used to. The heat didn’t agree with him.

“Thank you for your concern, Your Highness, but I assure you I am fine.” His reply was courteous, but distant, and Connor made the effort to attempt a smile. Markus didn’t seem fooled, nor pleased.

“Please drop the titles. If I am to wed you, I intend for it to be on equal footing.”

Connor hesitated, with a slow glance around them. Except for a few servants, bustling around the two royals with little more than curious side-eyed looks. The palace was a lively place, full of energy and vibrance. “We are alone, Your Highness. You needn’t keep up false pretenses. It would be unseemly for a foreign prince to call the head of state of your country by mere given name.”

“Perhaps that is how it may be in your country, but you are a guest here, and one I am to be wed to.” While Markus’ words were kind, his voice was firm and commanding. The voice of a leader, Connor thought, used to giving orders and having them followed.

This was the reason he was sent. Even if he yearned to disobey—  _ why should he take orders from the enemy leader?—  _ he knew to bow his head and submit. Richard would never be able to subdue his pride to do so. It’s why Amanda had chosen Connor. Because Connor would always fulfill his mission.

_ For Queen and Country. _

“As you command, so it will be, Prince Markus.” The words were bitter on his tongue, but spoken softly, and the bitterness was bearable. Accompanied by a strained smile, Connor assured, “Would you rather ‘My Lord’?”

Markus winced, and the man’s steps slowed. Connor matched his pace, wondering what he’d said wrong as a feeling of dread settled in his gut. But although Markus’ tone had taken on a strained note, there was no malice yet to be heard. “No, I’d much rather prefer my given name. And I suppose I won’t be able to get you to drop the title, will I?”

Connor didn’t reply, and Markus sighed. “Answer enough. Perhaps in time, Prince Connor.”

And against his better judgement, Connor laughed, just a little. Markus looked surprised at the sound, but just as the southern leader was about to make a comment the woman that had been at Markus’ side earlier landed deftly on her feet between Connor and Markus.

Stumbling back, a hand reaching for the sword at his waist in surprise, Connor realized where she’d come from: the second-story walkway above them. She had lept right over the railings, forsaking the stairs in favor of  _ jumping off the second floor. _

She disregarded Connor’s existence entirely, ignoring the foreign prince in favor of springing lightly to her feet with the lithe grace of a feline. Despite the athletics necessary for her stunt, she didn’t seem out of breath at all, as she grasped the southern leader’s arms and shook him.

Ready for charges of treason to be announced, Connor frowned when Markus merely held out his hands placatingly. “North, take a deep breath. What’s so urgent that—”

“Simon,” The woman apparently named after a cardinal direction hissed, anger dripping from her words like poison. “They hurt Simon, Markus! Those  _ fucking  _ snow-bastards  _ hurt Simon!” _

Markus’ face drained of color, and he simply said, in a frighteningly cool tone, “Take me to him.”

And they took off, leaving Connor to wonder his options. Wander the halls on his own looking for his chambers, or follow the duo? A servant would likely escort him to his chambers, or at the very least point him in the right direction if he asked. But…

His feet were already moving, steps too loud against the polished marble floors, but he caught up with Markus and North in a heartbeat’s time. His heavy clothes bogged him down, feeling too thick and too stiff for the heavy, hot southern air, but the sweat that pricked at his back was secondary to the curiosity burning in his mind.

_ Snow-bastards.  _ A slur for the northern people. What had Connor’s people done? Who was Simon? Questions flew through his mind unbidden, but he skidded to a stop as the two in front of him disappeared into a room off a corridor deep in the center of the palace. Connor followed more hesitantly, pausing at the doorway.

It was a bedroom, evidently, and star-maps were strung along the walls. Books written in the strange southern language— and scripts tacked to the walls were written in something stranger, a code of raised imprints on paper. The room was neat, tidy, though evidently inhabited by a bibliophile.

And in the bed was a pale man, with blond hair and blue eyes clouded with pain; Connor assumed this to be Simon.. A woman, with thick hair spilling loosely down her back, was mixing something near the window with her eyes closed serenely. The man who had been at Markus’ side earlier was at the man presumed to be Simon’s bedside, tending to the wounded man’s injuries.

“Simon!” Markus cried, and was at the blond man’s bedside in an instant. Cloudy blue eyes focused on the southern leader, and the injured man offered a pained smile. “Oh, Simon…”

“My prince, I assure you that it’s not as bad as it looks,” Simon laughed, but it was strained and thin. “It’s just a few bruises and cuts. I will be fine.”

“You don’t look so good, my friend,” Markus sighed, and Simon shrugged before wincing at the movement the action caused.

“I will be fine. Lucy and Josh are taking fine care of me.”

“Those  _ northern bastards  _ are going to pay for what they did to you,” North hissed, her hands clenched at her sides. Simon frowned at her.

“Now, North, you can’t—”

_ “Bullshit!”  _ Her snap made Simon fall silent, and Connor winced. “No more defending them, Simon! You’ve only ever preached ‘peace, peace’, but look where it’s gotten you— battered and bloodied! And we’ve invited the worst of their kind right into our heart!”

She was, obviously, talking about him. Simon knew this, by the way his eyes shifted to meet Connor’s. He offered Connor a similarly strained smile, and the northern prince froze under the stare.

“You must be Prince Connor, then. My apologize. I was otherwise occupied, and I didn’t manage to make it to your greeting.” With a heavy wince as the woman— Lucy?— began to smear the salve she’d been mixing on his wounds, Simon sighed. “I’m Simon, Apprentice to the Royal Magician, Lucy.”

“I’m less of a magician than an astrologist and herbalist,” the woman with the closed eyes hummed. Connor watched her, baffled as to how she managed to place the salve on the cuts if her eyes were constantly closed.

“Don’t discount yourself, Lucy,” The man Connor presumed was Josh chided. “You’re a wonderful seer.”

Lucy laughed with distant cheer, and Markus smiled, but North seemed to be impossibly angrier upon noticing Connor’s presence. She drew her blade and pointed it at him, but before Connor could do more than draw his blade halfway, Markus had stood and stepped in front of her blade.

“Move out of the way, Markus,” North hissed, but Markus remained firmly in place. “I’m not going to lose anyone else to these northern fuckers. I’m going to repay our losses with the blood of this— this  _ devil.” _

“Calm yourself, North,” Markus begged. “Please. You are the head of my guard, but even that title won’t protect you from drawing your blade at my fiancé.”

North’s sword never wavered, even pointed at her own leader, and Connor admired her steely resolve. If only the venom in her voice wasn’t directed at him. “That bastard isn’t your fiancé, Markus! He’s a snake sent in the guise of a peace embassy— he’s probably here for your head!”

She didn’t know how right she was. Connor flinched and recoiled backwards, taking a step back towards the hallway. He had expected harshness and hostility, but somehow, her words still scalded him. Rather, the truth in them burned. Markus, seeing the reaction, sighed heavily before meeting North’s angry glare with newfound determination.

“Our engagement is official, North, and it has been for months now. For all intents and purposes, Prince Connor is a member of the royal family now. Meaning you just pointed your blade at the very royal line that you are supposed to protect, North. That’s high treason, and you know it.”

For the first time, Connor saw the blade still pointed in his direction waver. Simon, who had managed to sit up with minor assistant from Josh, placed a hand at her arm with a pleading look.

“The engagement was made for peace and prosperity, my friend,” He reminded. “Let it be so, North. For our people.”

North gave in, sheathing her blade with a scowl. Meeting Connor’s eyes with blatant distrust, she muttered, “I still don’t trust him.”

“I don’t ask for your trust,” Connor spoke, finally finding his voice.  _ Because I’ll betray it in the end.  _ “I’m royalty from a country you’ve been hostile with for decades, and I’ve practically invaded your home. But I ask for the chance, at least, to earn your trust.”

“I trust no-one, and certainly not  _ northern bastards,” _ she snapped, pushing past him to disappear into the hall. Markus stared after her morosely, and Lucy set a gentle hand on his arm.

“At least this time there were no casualties,” She reminded helpfully.

Markus sighed. “It went as well as we could have expected, really.”

To himself, Connor had begun to think Amanda’s words were more true than he’d ever expected. Tiredly resigned, he thought,  _ the southern people are too difficult to understand. _

 

* * *

 

His quarters were nice. A door connected the rooms to Markus’, but Connor never dreamed of opening it; in fact, despite his thorough exploration of the room in his search for hidden things (and he’d found no peepholes or signs of malice) the only other thing he’d done was sit on the bedside and try to keep his head clear of the thoughts that threatened to make his eyes wet.

He was a prince, and princes do not cry. Connor had to be something  _ more _ than human; he had to be unfeelingly perfect, born to accomplish a task that he would achieve no matter the cost. For Queen and country.

When had that patriotic declaration gotten so bitter? He remembered being a boy, with Richard, as they crossed pinkies in the garden and cheerfully declared  _ “For Queen and country!” _

What had happened to that innocent loyalty?

Connor shook his head violently and stood abruptly, nearly tripping in his haste. Being in this strange southern country was poisoning his thoughts. He had to get some air— it was too hot, muffling his ability to think correctly. He hesitated at the door to the corridor, but supposed that he had never explicitly been told he must remain in his rooms.

Loopholes existed, even for a political hostage. And besides, there was nobody in sight, not even any servants. The castle was asleep. He was fine.

Connor didn’t know the layout of the castle, and as he tried to follow the path they’d taken today to get to the outer doors, he found himself instead lost in the towering marble halls. Despairing, he sighed and leaned against the railings of the stairs, having lost his sense of direction entirely.

“You’re lost, prince of the north.”

The voice made his jump, his already frayed nerves giving a jolt of panic. The realization that the voice belonged to Lucy, the Royal Magician, did absolutely nothing to soothe it; in the north, maleficium was outlawed and practitioners of the dark arts were burned or drowned. Amanda had warned him of their tricks, the sort of devilish magic that the south used to bring plague and drought upon their lands.

Despite her harmless appearance, with her closed eyes and gently folded hands, this witch before him could likely kill him with her curses in mere breaths.

Connor’s muscles froze in his fright, and his mouth was dry as he greeted, “Royal Magician. I am merely turned about, thank you. My apologies for disturbing you.”

“You are not the only one who wanders the halls to clear thoughts,” She merely said, with a faint smile. “I quite enjoy nighttime walks. The air is cooler, and the quiet peace is hard to achieve during the daytime hours.”

What was she telling him this for? Was she threatening him? Cold sweat ran down his back as she offered her hand to him. When he hesitated, she laughed.

“I know how the north views those of us who are… supernaturally gifted. But I assure you, I mean no harm. I just wanted to get to know you a bit better, foreign prince.” Her eyes opened to bore into his soul, and Connor realized with a startle that her eyes were completely clouded over.

She was sightless? But even without her sight, she seemed to sense that he was staring right into her blind eyes, and Lucy smiled warmly.

“You see, then, that I mean no harm. I am unarmed, and blind. What could a little blind woman do to you, an armed prince?”

The words were light, but they held weight Connor didn’t know what to make of. He relented and offered her his hand with a quiet, “As you wish.”

Her hands were warm and uncalloused, soft in his own. She mulled over what she seemed to find, and she said, “Your future, northern prince, is a dark one. You will be the downfall of this country, the catalyst in a cold age of sorrow that will last for centuries, or you will be the one to bring warmth to the icy lands stuck in a dark cycle of pain and suffering. You will be the catalyst for great evil, or great good.” Her nails dug faintly into his flesh, not enough to draw blood but enough to sting. “The gods have not blessed you with an easy fate, but the choice is yours. You will decide our future.”

Connor yanked his hands away, stumbling back with a choked gasp. Sightless eyes tracked his movements, and the witch looked sorrowful as she crossed her hands neatly. Gaping at her as if she might kill him then and there, Connor’s knees began to shake.

“I did not mean to scare you. I merely speak the truth of what I see in your future. But heed my warnings, foreign prince. Do not make your choices lightly. They do not merely affect your fate.”

But Connor was already gone, feet carrying him quickly away as he fled from the seer. He had always been taught that he should never retreat, that he should fight until the end, but by the time he found his quarters again and sunk into the soft bed so exhausted he was still in his full dress uniform. Weak sunrays were beginning to streak across the sky, turning it a faint grey hue, and Connor gave in to sleep with the witch’s words echoing in his mind.

 

* * *

 

Markus had requested his presence at the morning meal, and Connor shifted uncomfortably. He was dressed distinctly differently than anybody else at the table— in his military-style dress uniforms, made of thick and warm materials dyed in the royal colors of dark, deep blue and black. His rank was embellished on his shoulders, and it was the only clothes he owned, just in multiple sets.

Markus was dressed in light colors and relaxed clothes, a loose tunic and trousers, the only indication of his royal status being in the crest sewn onto his breast in the southern royal colors— pale blue and white. They were the only two seated at the table, and the meal so far had passed in less than comfortable silence. Connor found himself focusing so intently on the food in a desperate attempt to avoid his to-be husband that he barely took a bite of anything, and then, he didn’t really taste anything. His anxiety masked all other emotions.

Finally, Markus broke the silence, setting his cutlery down with a sigh. “I apologize for yesterday. Your welcome was less than warm. But North meant well, and Simon is dear to both of us. To see him hurt… angered her immensely.”

“Is he doing well?” Connor asked, quietly, following suit and setting his cutlery down. “The Apprentice, I mean.”

“He is resting, but he will recover quickly. Lucy will take good care of him.” The mention of the court witch made Connor shiver, but Markus didn’t seem to notice. “He was… attacked by a group of northern refugees. A robbery that got violent.”

Hesitantly, Connor voiced his thoughts. “Isn’t Simon an apprentice to your Royal Magician? Why didn’t he defend himself?”

Markus actually cracked a faint laugh at that, and after a long drink, he elaborated. “I know the reputation the gifted have in the north, but I assure you, the ‘magic’ you fear him— and Lucy— is harmless. They wouldn’t harm a soul. Simon is a very gifted man, this is true, but he uses his talents to heal. And Lucy is a seer; she’s never spilled an ounce of blood in her life. They are extraordinary gifts, but they use them to better our people, not harm them.”

_ Our people.  _ Like Connor was a real royal consort and not a mere bartering chip. Markus, Connor thought bitterly, was a cruel man. The way he ignored the malice of the seer, the way her words pricked under his skin like knives, was like a slap. But he thought to himself,  _ for Queen and country,  _ and steeled his anger. When Connor responded, it was with a pleasant smile and a cheerful tone.

“Of course, Prince Markus. I apologize for any indiscretions I may have caused in light of… cultural differences.”

“No apologizes,” Markus insisted, and his smile was so bright Connor almost mistook it for genuine care. “We come from very different lands, and cultural differences are to be expected.”

“As you wish, Yo— Prince Markus,” Connor corrected himself, and Markus seemed pleased. The southern ruler glanced towards the windows, observing the progress the sun had made.

“I have a meeting with Josh shortly, but after that, I was planning on taking a venture into the city. Would you like to accompany me, Prince Connor?”

“Of course, Prince Markus,” Connor agreed immediately. His duty was to gain the trust of Markus, and agreeing to the man’s whims was part of it. But more than that, investigating the city and it’s hidden nooks and crevices, the best routes for a quick escape, was a high priority. “I should better know the city I am to be married in, don’t you think?”

And Markus had the gall to look  _ relieved.  _ “I’m so glad you think so, too,” He agreed, with such bleeding warmth it almost made Connor flinch.

False kindness was such a pain.

 

* * *

 

The southern heat was stifling, but Connor would be damned before he let it show as he followed Markus through the city. It was more rowdy than the marketplace he was used to, back home, but there was an odd sort of charm about the hustle and bustle.

It would be better if there wasn’t stares at his uniform, at the way he trailed besides Markus. If there weren’t hatefully hissed jibes and insults, too quietly to be considered shouting but too loud to be speaking.

It grated on Markus’ nerves— Connor could  _ see  _ it. He didn’t understand why the southern leader was getting angry, but he knew it was happening, despite the cool mask Markus was attempting to keep. Eventually, they ducked into a small, sweet-smelling shop, and the noise and crowd fell away.

“I’m sorry,” Markus said, but Connor merely frowned.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Not really, anyways. He’d existed, been born into the word, as an enemy prince, that was crime enough. But during this short jaunt beyond the palace walls, Markus hadn’t done anything to warrant an apology.

Markus didn’t answer him, switching conversation topics easily. “Mm. I noticed you didn’t eat much at breakfast. Southern cuisine probably tastes odd to you, doesn’t it?”

Connor was so surprised that the foreign leader had bothered to pay him enough attention to notice the meal he’d merely picked at that he answered earnestly. “It does. Food from back home is… hardier?” Markus looked amused at his statement, and Connor looked away sheepishly. “Southern cuisine is very light.”

“I’ve never eaten any northern cuisine,” Markus admitted. “But I can only imagine the differences. So, I thought I should show you some of my favorite foods.”

It sounded like a child’s idea. Somehow, the innocence of it made Connor smile genuinely, though his cheeks were still warm. He changed the subject accordingly, feeling uneasily naked without some form of formal accompany. “Your Majesty, is it really safe for you to be wandering without guard?”

If Markus noticed his quick change of subject, he didn’t comment on it with anything more than a mildly amused smile. He mulled about the shop with the sort of familiar ease that baffled his northern companion; for royalty walk with such ease in a commonplace store like this was… unheard of, for his kind. And yet, just like the day he’d arrived and Markus had woven through the crowds with ease, the foreign leader seemed perfectly in his element.

“Jerry, my friend,” he greeted the shopkeeper warmly, avoiding Connor’s question with ease. The shopkeeper in question laughed cheerfully, smiling brightly at the king.

“Jerry is doing well, Your Highness! And how is Your Highness?”

“I’m doing fine as well, Jerry.” Markus moved to the side and guetured to Connor, who dipped his head in greeting. The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of his customer. “This is my fiancé, Connor, firstborn prince of the north.”

It was an informal introduction, one Connor was unused to, but was acceptably polite nonetheless. The title,  _ fiancé, _ was one he’d technically had for months, yet it still sounded odd to hear. Connor had barely paid attention, to captured by Markus’ speech.

He exuded the aura of a leader. Some part of Connor longed after the ability to lead like he did, with such ease, but a bigger part of him was too enraptured by something he couldn’t quite define.

“A pleasure, Jerry.”

“Jerry’s pleasure, Your Highness!” The shopkeep declared. His speech was a bit confusing, referring to himself in the third, but from the way Markus gave no reaction it seemed as though this was normal. Connor blanketed his surprise. “Can Jerry help Your Highnesses find something?”

“Not today,” Markus assured. “I’m just here for the usual. I wanted Prince Connor to try some of my favorites.”

“Call for Jerry if you need him,” The shopkeep insisted firmly, before disappearing behind a curtain into a backroom. Connor tried to contain his curiosity, but he was genuinely distracted when Markus picked up a bright blue candy from a bin and offered it to him.

Hesitantly, Connor accepted the small sweet and popped it into his mouth. It took only a short moment before a startled noise broke free of his lips.

“It pops!” And it certainly did; it crackled in his mouth in bursts of berry flavor. “What is this?”

“Jerry’s candies are the only of their kind,” Markus promised, looking softly amused at the honest reaction. Connor’s security-related worries briefly fell away, and Markus delighted in showing him further wonders around the marketplace.

He should have been more on guard, in the foreign city. But it was so  _ different,  _ so much more open and sunny and  _ warm,  _ he let his walls slip, just a bit.

Just enough that he didn’t notice the shadow that trailed the pair through the city.

 

* * *

 

Perched on the edge of the marble rooftops, he watched the city quiet and fall silent as it’s citizens began to sleep. The southern barbarians built beautiful cities, but he wasn’t swayed; the beauty merely masked their horrible natures. He wasn’t blind.

Under the light of the waning gibbous moon, he contemplated what to write in his update to the Queen. His observations of the two princes—  _ ‘fiancés’ _ — made him give pause. The Queen didn’t need to be troubled by unnecessary details, but it would be best to let her know how Connor was fairing. She had always shown him affection, and a bit of jealousy pricked at his heart.

But he pushed it away and began to write. He didn’t need to feel jealous. The Queen liked him best, because he followed his orders— he was an unfeeling tool, born to accomplish his mission. Unlike some soft-hearted, privileged fools, he was not stupid.

.- ... / . -..- .--. . -.-. - . -.. --..-- / - .... . / .--. .-.. .- -. / -.-. --- -. - .. -. ..- . ... .-.-.-

He tied the letter to the leg of his bird and sent it flying, before disappearing into the night’s shadows. The plan was continuing.

And he always completed his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who the shadow man is ｢(ﾟ<ﾟ)ﾞ??
> 
> Jk, y'all can probably guess who it is.


End file.
